<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>hey stranger by ennuijpg</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25497376">hey stranger</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ennuijpg/pseuds/ennuijpg'>ennuijpg</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Based on a Tumblr Post, Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, POV Martin Blackwood, POV Third Person Limited, Pining, The Magnus Archives Season 1, based on that alt jon post that's been living rent free in my mind for two days, with a healthy dose of the s1 og assistants being friends</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 04:00:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,701</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25497376</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ennuijpg/pseuds/ennuijpg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a late night Tesco run, how eventful could it be? It’s not like Martin is going to run into his boss who’s wearing something absurdly different from usual and get the most acute form of whiplash possible from seeing him, right?</p>
<p>(Based on <a href="https://rollmarishative.tumblr.com/post/623913545586900992/okay-i-see-your-jon-was-alt-in-uni-and-i-raise">this post about alt jon</a> on tumblr because it's all I've been thinking about of late.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood &amp; Sasha James &amp; Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>141</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1007</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>hey stranger</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Fuck,” Martin whispers to himself in the glow of the fridge light. It’s empty, save for a carton with one egg left in it, a pint of apple juice, and one slice of bread left from the loaf he’d put in there right before it was due to go off. He had full intention to swing by Tesco on the way back home, but between the follow-up on the Adekoya statement taking longer than intended and the mere five hours of sleep he’d gotten last night, his brain short-circuited, and he had headed straight home, nearly asleep before he unlocked his front door. </p>
<p>A few hours later, he’d awoken, but it wasn’t until another hour after that that he thought it might be important to have something to eat. So here he is at nearly 11 p.m., staring at his empty fridge. He types quickly into the search bar and is relieved to find the shop doesn’t close until midnight tonight, so he still has a little over an hour. Sure, he could go tomorrow morning, but it’s not like he’s going to be going to bed anytime soon, so might as well go now. </p>
<p>He slips his wallet into the pocket of a soft, brown woolen coat hanging over the back of the couch before pulling it on over his...well, they’re not quite pyjamas, but his ensemble of dark grey joggers and an oversized hoodie from ages ago is a fair bit more casual than what he’d normally wear out of the flat. But it’s hardly like he’ll run into anyone important at 11 p.m. on a Saturday night Tesco run. </p>
<p>By the looks of it, the rain from earlier has stopped, so he forgoes the umbrella. There will be more than enough to carry on the walk back home anyways. </p>
<p>The sound of his shoes echo hollowly through the complex as he makes his way down the four flights of stairs. The lift being broken for over a month now must be a safety regulation violation or something, but it’s not like his landlord cares enough to bother calling someone to get it fixed. Martin pats his pockets to double check for everything before opening the door to the complex and stepping out into the night.</p>
<p>It’s neither empty nor quiet, London at night rarely is, much less on the weekends. The faint smell of rain on asphalt reaches him as his left shoe lands solidly in a puddle. “Christ,” he pulls his shoe out to assess the damage—not enough to warrant going back up for a different pair of shoes, he decides. </p>
<p>The walk to the shop takes ten minutes, give or take. He turns a few lines of poetry over in his mind as he walks. There’s one about city rain he’d started and restarted about five times sitting unfinished in his notebook. Maybe he’ll actually finish it tonight. </p>
<p>He squints his eyes for half a second as the automatic doors hum and he walks through, promptly being blinded by the stark fluorescents. He blinks a few times, then pulls his phone out of his pocket and navigates to the notes app, where his list reads ‘eggs, pasta, broccoli, courgettes, bread, marmalade.’ It’s probably not enough to warrant the trolley he got instead of a basket, but there’s definitely <em> something </em> he forgot to put on the list. He can feel it, so fingers crossed, he remembers before he checks out and not right after.</p>
<p> There are still some people in the shop at this hour, a couple of what must be students who had entered right before he did and a businesswoman-looking person in the produce section. He heads there first for the broccoli and courgettes. Usually, he’s rather indifferent to cooking, but there’s a garden vegetable pasta recipe he found that he’s rather excited to try tomorrow. There’s a single head of broccoli left that he takes along with two wonky courgettes he slips  into the thin plastic produce bag.</p>
<p>In the dairy section, Martin picks up a small carton of six eggs. It’s always bothered him that eggs are sold in the dairy section despite definitely not being dairy, but at least this time, his annoyance reminds him that he does actually need to buy some dairy. Milk was what was missing from his list. Or at least one of the things. Maybe there’s more, but who’s to say? Certainly not him. </p>
<p>Just as he’s about to unlock his phone to check the list again, the screen lights up with a notification from the archival assistants’ group chat. He types in his password to see the text from Sasha.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>11:07 p.m.</p>
<p>
  <b>Sasha</b>
</p>
<p>hey did either of you guys take the rentoul statement file home?</p>
<p>or know if jon did?</p>
<p>i couldn’t find it today and forgot to ask before i left</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Martin starts typing a response right when he sees <em> Tim is typing… </em> as well.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Martin</b>
</p>
<p>nope i thought we finished the followup on that one a while ago though??</p>
<p>
  <b>Tim</b>
</p>
<p>yea same</p>
<p>but like either way</p>
<p>why are u doing work at 11 on a saturday sash</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Sasha</b>
</p>
<p>we did finish it but i was combing through police databases for the popam statement</p>
<p>*popham</p>
<p>and found a recent arrest record for a clive rentoul and just wanted to check if there’s any relation to lee rentoul from the statement</p>
<p>also i was about to go to sleep i just suddenly remembered i forgot to ask</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Tim</b>
</p>
<p>why are u going to sleep at 11 on a saturday sash</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Sasha</b>
</p>
<p>some of us have responsible and healthy sleep schedules tim</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Tim is typing… </em>pops up again, and as amusing as he’s sure this is going to get, Martin has to finish grocery shopping at some point, so he pockets his phone and heads a few aisles over. There’s a loaf of this weird multigrain kind that he puts in his basket because he’s tired of the same old. </p>
<p>The pasta aisle is on the other side of the shop, which never made much sense to him from a practical standpoint, pasta and bread really aren’t that different from each other. Though he supposes if the goal is to make people walk around the shop as much as possible so they see more products to buy, then this certainly is a way to do it. </p>
<p>In the aisle, he’s met with shelves upon shelves of pasta in various bags and makes his way to the array of clear ones with green labels reading ‘TESCO’ with the pasta type underneath. He pushes the trolley slowly forward, eyes scanning the bags, looking for farfalle. Not that the recipe specifically calls for it, but the bowtie shape is charming, and he should take whimsy and fun where he can get it. </p>
<p>The thing is, he can’t quite figure out how the shapes are sorted. It’d make sense to have similar shapes together, but fettuccine and macaroni are right next to each other, so clearly not the case here. It seems like there’s everything but farfalle, just bags upon bags of spaghetti, angel hair, orecchiette, lasagne, rigatoni, fusilli, fusilli <em> bucati </em>, penne—</p>
<p>“Ow!”</p>
<p>Martin’s immediately snapped out of his pasta reverie, already panicked, eyes flitting wildly about to avoid having to make direct eye contact with the stranger he just nearly ran over with a trolley. “Sorry! Sorry! I wasn’t—”</p>
<p>“<em> Please </em> watch where you’re go— <em> Martin? </em>” </p>
<p>He knows this voice. “J—” he lets his eyes actually look at the person in front of him now, “<em> Jon? </em>” And Martin can’t really manage to say anything on account of his jaw hanging open. Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, his boss who has never worn anything but proper work slacks and button ups with suit jackets, albeit ones that are slightly too big for him, in respectable navys and dark greys, is wearing…well he’s wearing something different, that’s for sure.</p>
<p>Martin’s eyes aren’t really quite sure where to even start processing this, so it takes a moment. Jon’s just wearing a plain black T-shirt, but on top of the shirt is a dark green unbuttoned flannel that nearly hits him mid-thigh, and on top of that still is a slightly faded black denim jacket that’s absolutely covered in various patches all over with a few pins on the breast pocket, cropped slightly above the flannel. One patch near the bottom hem reads ‘THE MECHANISMS’ in a bold, serif font. Next to the embroidered text is a logo of some sort, something that looks like a spaceship overlaid on top of a gear.</p>
<p>His jeans are a similar faded black and ripped to all hell. Martin wouldn’t be surprised if more of Jon’s legs is showing than isn’t, if one were to measure. Threaded through the belt loops is a black belt with two rows of silver grommets that match the silver hardware on his laced up combat boots. Even his hair is different. A bit messy and not combed away from his face like it normally is. It’s long enough to be curling at the ends, which Martin hadn’t noticed at work. It’s really all a bit much. </p>
<p>Jon reaches for a bag on a higher shelf, and his T-shirt lifts up just enough to expose a sliver of skin. “Careful, you’ll catch flies like that,” he says dryly, in the same tone he uses when telling Martin he’d formatted the follow-up report incorrectly or that he needs all the statements from November of last year on his desk in an hour. </p>
<p>Martin’s jaw snaps shut. “S-sorry I just—you just—well you—you look so…” he isn’t exactly quite sure how to articulate this, “...different,” he finishes lamely.</p>
<p>“Yes, I’m aware.” He puts the bag of pasta in the basket hooked on his left arm. </p>
<p>“R-right. I mean, o-of course you know. I’m just, uhhh, surprised.” He doesn’t exactly want Jon to go, largely on account of wanting a little more time to process this, but when he moves his mouth, no words come out, so there’s nothing he can keep him here for. </p>
<p>“Right. Well, see you on Monday, Martin.”</p>
<p>“O-okay, you too.” And like that, Jon is gone, heading in the opposite direction Martin was originally heading. He curses himself in his head, ‘you too’ was weird wasn’t it? Is ‘you too’ a weird response to ‘see you on Monday?’ He probably should have said something like ‘see you then,’ right?</p>
<p>He has absolutely no intention of finishing this shopping trip while he could still run into Jon somewhere else in the shop. So he stays parked in the pasta aisle and takes out his phone, resolving to wait five or ten minutes before continuing with the shopping. He’ll be done well before closing time, so it’ll be fine. His lockscreen shows seven new messages from Sasha and Tim which he doesn’t bother to read before typing, perhaps faster than he’s ever typed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>11:21 p.m.</p>
<p>
  <b>Martin</b>
</p>
<p>guys??</p>
<p>guys????</p>
<p>i just ran into jon at tescos??</p>
<p>im fucking reeling</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Immediately, he sees <em> Tim is typing… </em> and <em> Sasha is typing… </em>, and he continues typing himself, ignoring the new messages until he’s done. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Tim</b>
</p>
<p>wild</p>
<p>and? there’s an and here right</p>
<p>
  <b>Martin</b>
</p>
<p>im losing it a little</p>
<p>have any of you seen jon outsidw of work??</p>
<p>
  <b>Sasha</b>
</p>
<p>lmao crazy, what happened?</p>
<p>and no, pretty sure i haven’t unless i’m really really forgetting something</p>
<p>
  <b>Martin</b>
</p>
<p>he looked completely different</p>
<p>i didn’t even rscognize him at first </p>
<p>like</p>
<p>
  <b>Tim</b>
</p>
<p>wdym</p>
<p>
  <b>Martin</b>
</p>
<p>he was wearing ripped jeans??</p>
<p>his hair was all messy and kinda curly</p>
<p>and like a normal tshirt but then a flannel on top</p>
<p>and then on top of thst he was wearing a black denim jacket</p>
<p>with soooooo many patches and pins on it??</p>
<p>
  <b>Tim</b>
</p>
<p>WHAT</p>
<p>ARE U SURE THAT WAS JON</p>
<p>
  <b>Martin</b>
</p>
<p>im literally still in shock</p>
<p>and combat boots</p>
<p>his jeans were <em> so </em> ripped likr i think there was more exposed leg than jean</p>
<p>like he looked like he belonged in a punk band or something</p>
<p>
  <b>Sasha</b>
</p>
<p>this is so wild lmao</p>
<p>i don’t think anyone would’ve guessed in a million years</p>
<p>did you say anything to him?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Tim</b>
</p>
<p>MARTIN WHAT</p>
<p>FOR REAL????? LIKE YOU’RE NOT JOKING RUGHT NOW RIGHT</p>
<p>
  <b>Martin</b>
</p>
<p>that’s the worst part!!</p>
<p>i wasnt looking where i was going and </p>
<p>ran into him with my trolley</p>
<p>i didnt even recognize it was him until he recognized me first</p>
<p>also im in joggers and a hoodie just looking like</p>
<p>a complete mess</p>
<p>im not joking!!</p>
<p>so yeah i ran into him and then it was really awkward i was kinda just standing there</p>
<p>in shock for like ten seconds</p>
<p>and then i just said he looked different and he was like yeah i know......</p>
<p>
  <b>Sasha</b>
</p>
<p>oof lmao</p>
<p>
  <b>Martin</b>
</p>
<p>and then he just said he’ll see me on monday</p>
<p>like his speaking pattern and tone was just exactly the same as at work</p>
<p>
  <b>Tim</b>
</p>
<p>d</p>
<p>did</p>
<p>did he</p>
<p>did he look,,,,,,good???</p>
<p>
  <b>Martin</b>
</p>
<p>yeah he did :((</p>
<p>
  <b>Sasha</b>
</p>
<p>okay but why <em> would </em> his speaking pattern be different, he’s still the same person martin</p>
<p>actually you know the more i think about this, the more i think i can see this</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Tim</b>
</p>
<p>can u???</p>
<p>i don’t think my brain can come up with a visual that makes sense</p>
<p>
  <b>Martin</b>
</p>
<p>i dont know!! </p>
<p>he just seemed so different i straight up thought he was a different person at first</p>
<p>so i guess if he spoke differently it wouldnt surprise me?? idk idk</p>
<p>
  <b>Sasha</b>
</p>
<p>jon can contain little a multitude</p>
<p>as a treat</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Tim</b>
</p>
<p>as a treat</p>
<p>
  <b>Martin</b>
</p>
<p>i mean i guess!! apparently!!</p>
<p>okay okay i have to finish my shopping</p>
<p>
  <b>Tim</b>
</p>
<p>nooooooo i have so many questions</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Sasha</b>
</p>
<p>let the man get his pasta tim</p>
<p>martin you gotta give us the rundown again on monday though</p>
<p>
  <b>Martin</b>
</p>
<p>okay yeah ofc</p>
<p>wait how did you knwo i was getting pasta</p>
<p>nvm w/e</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Martin pockets his phone and finally manages to find the farfalle behind the tagliatelle. He places it in the trolley before exiting the aisle. Before he does, he does check to make sure Jon isn’t in the vicinity and he isn’t about to accidentally run into him again, though. </p>
<p>Next to the pasta aisle is the one with all of the jarred goods. Checking his list, he grabs a small jar of marmalade off the shelf. Walking past the tomato sauces, he realizes that that’s what else was missing from the list. He just grabs the cheapest five hundred gram jar and heads towards the checkout lines. Thankfully, it seems Jon has definitely already left the shop. </p>
<p>He berates himself for forgetting the reusable shopping bags when he realizes. But at least doesn’t mess up basic conversation this time. When the cashier says “Have a good night!” he responds with the perfectly appropriate “You too!”</p>
<p>The walk home feels shorter than it normally does, though it starts drizzling at the very end. He trudges up the four flights of stairs, a bag in each hand, treading as lightly as he can, such as to not wake up any of the neighbors. When he gets into the flat, he sets the bags heavily down on the kitchen counter before grabbing a glass of water, which he downs, then starts putting things back in the fridge. Once everything is where it belongs, he takes out his phone and flops down on the bed. That poem is <em> definitely </em>not getting finished tonight. There are two notifications from Sasha and four from Tim in the group chat.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>11:32 p.m. </p>
<p>
  <b>Sasha</b>
</p>
<p>lucky guess</p>
<p>jk you told us about that recipe you wanted to try remember?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Tim</b>
</p>
<p>wait martin last question before monday</p>
<p>you do realize that this probably means</p>
<p>u and jon live in the same neighborhood right??</p>
<p>or at least semi close bc u guys were at the same tescos late at night</p>
<p> </p>
<p>12:01 a.m.</p>
<p>
  <b>Martin</b>
</p>
<p>fuck</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He drops his phone down next to him and closes his eyes. He can’t tell if Monday can stand to come quicker or slower. Whatever it is, it’s going to be…a lot.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I wrote this in a bit of a frenzy yesterday, hope y'all liked it! This is a one shot for now, but thoughts on a part two?</p>
<p>Anyways, thanks for reading! Kudos/comments/feedback/etc. all greatly appreciated. You can also find me on tumblr <a href="https://ennuijpg.tumblr.com/">@ennuijpg</a>!</p>
<p>Many thanks to my beta readers <a href="lesbianlotl.tumblr.com">Angelina</a> and <a href="https://justasmalltowngir5.tumblr.com">Saturday</a>, and to <a href="https://babyyodablackwood.tumblr.com">Lizzie</a> for making sure I don't sound horrifically American. Also ty to the slug server for letting me crowdsource some inspiration for Jon's outfit lmao</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>